


The Boy Least Likely

by Peapods



Series: ...without really trying [3]
Category: Pundit & Broadcast Journalist RPF (US)
Genre: Humor, M/M, Sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 20:52:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1048449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Peapods/pseuds/Peapods
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few years ago, Keith showed up on Anderson's couch and didn't leave. Anderson finally wonders why.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Boy Least Likely

"Keith," Anderson asks one day. "Why did you show up in my office that day?"

Keith shrugs, "I was tired of marathoning House Hunters International."

"I mean, why mine?"

"You had a couch."

"You know I love it when you're being deliberately obtuse."

"I like playing hard to get."

*****

Keith's new show starts up in the fall and it's a late night gig, so their schedules generally overlap, but rarely does Anderson show up on set. Especially while still wearing his suit jacket and tie.

"So, who's your interview tonight?"

"Pro-basketball guy."

"Yeah? Anyone I'd know?"

"Well, he's not into 'Toddlers in Tiaras' and I think he'd probably laugh at 'My Super Sweet Sixteen', so no."

"Please, I watch far classier trashy shows now. Who is it?"

"Gorgui Dieng."

"The guy from Senegal?

Keith narrows his eyes.

"I know things!" Anderson says proudly.

"You like him."

"He seems sweet."

"He's 23."

"You're gross."

"How the hell do you know about Gorgui Dieng?"

"He once laughed at one of my jokes."

That’s practically a declaration of courtship for Anderson.

*****

He's gone for five minutes and half the crossword has been filled in. Possibly it was more than five minutes.

He fumes when he sees that half of the theme clues have also been filled. He glares at "PERIODOTARDS" and "AMBERLINER" until Anderson walks back in, securing a tie around his neck with a half eaten cinnamon cruller hanging out of his mouth.

"How did you do that?" Keith stabs at the puzzle.

Anderson shrugs and pulls at the doughnut, taking out a hunk. He offers Keith the other half of the doughnut. "Must be having a good brain day."

Keith doesn't forgive him until the next morning when he asks for a five letter word for a 'horn-nosed beast, briefly', and gets "unicorn."

*****

"Seriously, the couch isn't even that comfortable."

"It smells nice."

"Febreze is a miracle of the modern age."

*****

Anderson has to drive them places because of Keith's depth perception problem, but Anderson drives like an old lady.

"The speed limit is 45," Keith points out helpfully. Anderson, the passive-aggressive asshole, takes his foot off the gas.

"How is it even possible to drive a car like this so slow?" Keith needles. The new Audi was made to fly and Anderson is treating the poor thing like a Volvo.

"Perhaps you'd prefer to walk?"

"You're just trying to annoy me."

"Frequently," Anderson admits.

*****

"Bitch, I will cut you!" Keith hears when he gets in that night. There's a bottle of scotch on the counter which is never a good sign.

"That's right! Try it again, asshole!" He sets down his stuff and greets Molly, who looks forlorn and neglected. Keith knows she's gotten nothing like the attention she needs from her master, who has been gone nearly two weeks on assignment. His own dog lifts his head briefly before aiming a baleful glance at the empty food bowl.

“Son of a cocksucker!”

Inching closer to the living room, Keith can hear the ambient noise of the video game, the harsh grunts of Anderson’s character as, he peeks his head around, his head is lobbed off by a character with surreal facial hair and very little clothing.

He watches Anderson’s character die with great drama and sighs, “Bad shoot then?”

“I don’t want to talk,” Anderson says as clearly as one who has had at least three scotches can.

“You hate scotch.”

“I like being drunk, however.”

“You hate being drunk.”

“I also hate video games.”

“You are pretty spectacularly bad at them,” Keith agreed watching as Anderson’s character is mauled by what looks like a sabre tooth tiger. Anderson throws the controller onto a nearby chair.

“Your cursing improves daily.”

Anderson grins. His character, subject to the whims of the slightly bent joystick, falls off a mountain.

*****

“So. You and Olbermann,” Jon says, raising an eyebrow.

The crowd “ooos.” Anderson rolls his eyes on screen and Keith coughs to help clear out his heartburn. He glares at the habanero peanuts Anderson bought him.

“How’d that happen?”

“One day he showed up on my couch and didn’t leave.”

“You didn’t kick him out? Cause, you know, I’m pretty sure even Olbermann would think you were well within your couch rights.”

Anderson shrugs, “The company was nice. His English is better than mine.”

The crowd barks with laughter. Keith smiles.

*****

“It’s ‘cause you thought I wouldn’t kick you out?” Anderson asks when he walks in later. It’s a statement posed as a question.

Keith shrugs.

“And if I had?”

“I hear Kelly likes to take on pity cases.”

“She doesn’t like you.”

“I’m delightful.”

It’s such a patently untrue statement that Anderson snorts when he laughs and throws a dog toy at Keith’s head.

Keith decides to answer seriously. “You constantly surprise me.”

Anderson raises his eyebrows.

Keith gestures vaguely with his hand. “You know things about basketball players. Sometimes you can do the crossword puzzles that stump me. You drink scotch, which you hate, and play video games, which you also hate, when you’re having a bad day. I don’t know what I expected when I came in that day, but the fact that you didn’t kick me out surprised me. I wanted to see what else you’d do.”

Anderson’s eyes have gone all squinty and the skin around his nose and mouth is creeping up. 

Keith squirms.

*****

Keith flops on the couch with a sigh and slams his head back into the wall.

“Damnit!”

“I told you that couch wasn’t comfortable.”

“I think you changed the couch.”

“It’s the same couch. There’s the stain where we spilled the whiskey.”

“No, I distinctly recall a cushier toosh.”

“You distinctly recall that your toosh was about 20 pounds heavier.”

“Gay sex is a harsh taskmaster.”

Anderson spits out his Diet Coke laughing so hard. Keith saves his script, wiping away fizzy syrup with one of Anderson’s ties. The red dye from Keith’s pen has run so “Hyperbolic nonsense” now looks like “Hyperbaric pressure,” which is considerably less helpful when speaking about the situation in Syria.

“You’re just comparing it to our far more comfortable couch at home.”

“I’ve done some quality sitting on that couch.”

“Some quality bitching too.”

“Digger Phelps is a troglodyte.”

“He knows more about basketball than you do.”

“He knows more about _Duke_ than I do, I’ll grant you.”

“Are you about to lose another job? Because, you know, I can pay the bills, but you’ve already said the couch is uncomfortable.” He paused. “And I’m not buying a new couch for you.”

Keith shifts, pulling a highlighter out from the creases in the couch and settling again.

“I’m happy,” Keith says simply. It’s not a simple concept or a simple emotion. Anderson is smiling so maybe he understands.

“Me too,” he says.

The couch really is uncomfortable. Keith shifts, trying to find the sweet spot he remembers.

“I’ve slept on it. It’s not going to get any better,” Anderson tells him.

“I disagree.”

“Naturally.”


End file.
